Harry Potter: Road Rage at Hogwarts
by rubberducky1221
Summary: a random thing that happens in harry potter


  
  


_Harry Potter: Road Rage at Hogwarts_

Chapter 1: Haircut Adventures at The Web

  


One day, Professor Quirrell was walking back from the hairdresser when he passed by Harry Potter on the way. Harry noticed his teacher going in the opposite direction, back to Hogwarts, and so he stopped to say hello. "Well hello there Professor Quirrell! Lovely day out, isn't it?"

  


Professor Quirrell bowed his turbined head in greeting, "Yes, fine d-day indeed. Say, P-Potter, you h-haven't s-s-seen the Sorcerer's Stone anywhere, h-have you?"

  


Harry looked at his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher skeptically before replying, "No, can't say I have. Why do you ask?"

  


"Uhhhhhh..." Professor Quirrell stammered, "Um... OH YEAH! Professor Dumbledore asked m-me to... uh... um... POLISH IT! Yes, that was it, Dumbledore asked me to p-p-polish it! I'm getting f-forgetful in m-m-my old age."

  


"You're not _that_ old, Professor! Maybe your turbine's a tad too tight."

  


"Well... that _could_ be. I just had it re-wrapped, quite tightly I might add. It's been a bit windy out these past few weeks."

  


"Oh! Where do you go to get your turbine wrapped?" asked Harry, full to the brim with interest.

  


"Just this little place down the road, The Web, they do a _grand_ job with turbine tightening, and not to mention waxing eyebrows either."

  


"Fancy that! I go there, too! I _always_ get my hair done there, and my eyebrows, too, for that matter. In fact, I have an appointment there right now, so I better be on my way!" Harry waved his goodbye's, but bumped into Professor Quirrell as he bustled by. Actually, he hit him quite hard in his rush to get to his hair appointment. Quirrell fell to the ground, clambering after his turbine that had fallen off his head when Harry jostled by him. Luckily (or, perhaps, _not_ so luckily) Harry noticed he had rudely pushed past his Professor and turned back just in time to see the turbine go flying off Quirrell's head, so Harry caught the purple bundle of fabric before it crashed to the pavement. "Oh, Professor, you've dropped your turbine!" Quirrell jumped up and snatched his turbine from Harry's hands, but not before Harry could add a few more comments. "Say, didn't you just get your turbine tightened? Maybe The Web doesn't do as well of a job as we thought they did, eh? Oh! That's a _lovely_ looking stone you've got there!" Harry said when he noticed the blood-red stone that sat atop Professor Quirrell's head. "Well, would you look at that! The Sorcerer's Stone is right there!" he said, pointing to Quirrell's head.

  


Putting his hands to his head, Quirrell felt the stone that rested atop his cranium. "Oh! Why th-th-thank you, P-Potter! I best be going now, I've got to go p-p-polish the Stone, you know! Dumbledore's orders!" Quirrell fixed his turbine on his head, covering the Sorcerer's Stone from prying eyes, namely Harry's. Professor Quirrell ran off back towards Hogwarts, leaving Harry standing bewildered in the dust.

  


Harry shrugged, "Hrmph... wonder what that was all about? Oh well, I've got a hairdresser's appointment to be at, so I suppose I'll worry about this later." With that, Harry skipped off happily to have his hair trimmed.

  


When Harry walked into The Web, he spied a somewhat familiar face: Gilderoy Lockhart. Sitting in one of those chairs with the blow dryer top that fits over your head, Gilderoy was occupied with a copy of _Witch Weekly_ and a golden goblet full of fire that he was drinking from greedily. When he spied Harry walk in the door, he spat out a mouthful of fire and quickly wiped away the excess dripping down his jaw. "Harry Potter! What on EARTH are you doing here?!"

  


"Um, getting my hair trimmed, and possibly my eyebrows waxed." Harry shifted his weight uncomfortably, he was not fond of being recognized; no matter how often it happened he still couldn't get used to it. Now, with the entire salon's eyes on him, Harry didn't know what to do to avoid the attention.

  


Hiding the goblet not-so-conspicuously in his back pocket, Lockhart lifted the dryer from his head and put the magazine down. Strolling over to a very bashful Harry he said, "Harry my dear boy, I didn't know you went here too! Well, then again, you being an aspiring celebrity and all, trying to follow in my footsteps, it isn't really all _that_ surprising. Is it, folks?" The collective inhabitants of The Web nodded their heads in agreement.

  


"Um, well, if you'll excuse me I have an appointment and I'd rather not let this haircut wait any longer. I've had to cancel three times already, and my hair is a _disaster_, so I'd really like to take care of this now." Harry blushed as he patted his head in reference to his unkempt mane of black unruly hair. (Holly would describe it as a grassy field atop his head.) Harry inched his way past Lockhart and sat down at his ususal salon chair and waited for the inevitable, yet long awaited haircut to begin.


End file.
